Penance of the Stone
by LifesVictory
Summary: Pride and Prejudice: Our favorite couple is happily married and trying for children when a ghost from Darcy's past threatens any hope for the future. ED and slight OCD.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I've been a huge fan of Jane Austen for a long time, but to tell the truth each time I read _Pride and Prejudice_ I come out completely satisfied, like I don't need to add anything more. However, I've decided to delve into the past a little bit and in that head into Darcy and Elizabeth's future. So, yes, there _may_ be a hint of romance outside of Darcy and Elizabeth, just as a warning. Go with me a little, and forgive any mistakes I make for accuracy, grammar, etc.

Hope it's enjoyable :-)

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****Chapter 1**

The lady dressed in a black silk gown took her place among the other seated guests and folded her hands delicately across her lap. To the few individuals she recognized she nodded and returned polite smiles, but for the most part she remained still and silent, conscious of her anonymity among the crowd of people. Trying to relax, she looked around the simple yet well furnished great hall and sighed lightly, her fingers releasing their terse grip on the lace gloves she held.

She had been invited here out of courtesy, as a guest, as an acquaintance. People regarded her as a mystery, with innocent curiosity, baseless suspicion. There was no reason why she should not enjoy herself. Taking a breath and listening to the whisper of her gown against the floor, she finally turned up her veil and even ventured to murmur a few words to her neighbor in casual greeting.

The room grew silent suddenly as the lights around her extinguished and a few knowing guests clapped. Above her, a loud simple chord reverberated to the high ceilings of the room. She searched for its source as the notes melted away into a haunting intricacy of scales and arias of unparalleled speed. Her insides churned as the sound built, changing keys rhythmically until the sound climaxed with a surprisingly soft cadence. The silence that followed was brief, but she swivelled in her chair to find the origin of the inexplicably disturbing sound.

"You won't find him there," someone whispered to her at her side. A hand in the shadows indicated above them in the balcony. "He always plays from the rafters."

The lady followed the extended fingers to the faint outline of a piano-forte and its master, sitting with his back to the body of his audience. The music brought tears to her eyes, but not of moved awe and wonder, but of a fear that she could not rationalize. There was something in the sound, a phrase or a repetition of notes, that she recognized.

The interlude of gentle rolling cadences and pleasantries ended abruptly and she was plunged back into the furious theme of the concerto as if drenched in ice cold water. The form of the musician remained impossibly still, his back stiff as if he were restraining himself, but his hands gave away the force of his emotion. They slowed, however, traveling more and more gently along the glowing white keys until they stopped over a collection of them. He pressed gently and then lifted them from the ivory.

After a pause, the guests rose from their seats and applauded vigorously. A host of servants once again lit the extinguished lamps and the warm, welcoming light refilled the pleasant hall. The lady stood with the rest of them and clapped absently, her eyes focused on the still shadowed form until he moved away from the piano-forte and into the light. Her hands froze mid-clap. He bowed curtly to the audience and gave a restricted smile as their appreciation quieted down to a hush.

"I thank you all for doing me the honor of dining with me tonight," he said, his voice deep and clear. "Welcome to Pemberley Hall." They applauded in reply and were ushered by the many servants into the dining hall. The lady felt a light touch at her right arm and tore her eyes away from the balcony.

"Miss Drake, will you do me the great honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" The young man who had invited her tonight offered her his arm, but his sister shook her golden-curled hair and laughed.

"But, Lady Drake, I daresay you would prefer to be introduced to our host first, would you not?" the girl smiled, and took her hand in hers. "You do understand, don't you, Charles?"

"Of course," he said, bowing deeply. "I should have thought of it myself. I shall go with you; I haven't had the opportunity to greet the man myself, as it were."

Her faint protests went unheard as they ushered her to the foot of the marble staircase that descended from the balcony. She dragged her eyes up the carpeted steps until they collided with the tall, rigid statue into which some cruel god had breathed life, and planted her feet firmly against the ground to steady herself.

"Mr. Darcy, you have outdone yourself once again," the young man called Charles called with a wide grin. "Never have I heard the piano-forte played so masterfully. Tell us, who composed such a moving piece?"

Mr. Darcy bowed slightly. "I am the man," he replied. "You see, my wife encourages me to develop my music. I'm afraid my sister has had much influence upon her."

At the word 'wife' he had intoned his voice almost imperceptibly, but the lady noticed with a smothered shiver.

"And where is Mrs. Darcy this evening? I don't believe I've seen her," Charles' sister asked cheerfully. Mr. Darcy turned to her and for the first time his eyes rested on the lady full blaze.

"She is walking presently behind you," Mr. Darcy answered, his eyes still with the lady for barely a second more before moving past them. The party turned, last of which the lady, and beheld the mistress of Pemberley Hall.

She was tall, like her husband, and very thin. Her eyes were warm and welcoming but still retained a constant sharp intelligence that, accompanied by her stubborn chin, added to her unique charm. She wore her reddish-brown hair in lose curls around her long, graceful neck around which an elegant necklace hung, no doubt a gift from her husband. She moved forward and placed her hand on Mr. Darcy's forearm, wrapping the other around as well with uncensored affection.

"Good evening," she greeted from her husband's side. Her eyes moved from face to face until they came upon the only one she did not recognize. She promptly extended a thin hand and took the lady's gloved one briefly. "I don't believe I've made your acquaintance."

"May I present Lady Charlotte Drake of Edinburgh, Scotland," Charles cut in, blushing at his forgetfulness. "Lady Drake, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley Hall." The two women curtseyed and straightened politely.

"You have an exquisite home, Mrs. Darcy," Lady Drake complimented softly. "It is very beautifully designed." Mrs. Darcy smiled and squeezed her husband's arm.

"I should be most honored to give you a tour of the gardens, Lady Drake," Mrs. Darcy offered, not noticing the flicker of light that refracted in her husband's gaze. "It is by far the most breathtaking element of the manor grounds. I say the grounds because in my opinions it is in the forests that Pemberley is truly unsurpassed, but I doubt you'd like to tromp around in the mud in your evening finest."

The party tittered in amusement and Lady Drake inclined her head lightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, I shall enjoy that very much." Her eyes moved away from the mistress of Pemberley Hall and lingered for a moment on its master.

"Enough talk, then, I say!" Charles laughed after a moment, and offered his hand to Lady Drake. "He's bewitched us with his playing and made us into paupers with his finery, let's see if his supper can bring him off of his throne!" Lady Drake took his arm with more gratitude than the young man knew and was led away to the dining hall.

Remaining in the hall while the rest of the guests filtered into the dining room, Elizabeth sighed happily and planted a light kiss on her husband's cheek. "Whoever was that young woman, Mr. Darcy? I don't believe I've ever seen her before."

Mr. Darcy's eyes followed the black form as it disappeared behind an ornate threshold and took his wife's hand on his arm. "I knew her mother once a long time ago. She was good to my father before his death." He replied shortly, and moved forward as the last of the guests moved into the dining hall. "As for her daughter, Lady Drake, I have no affiliation with her beyond the knowledge of her existence.

"Shall we go to dinner, Mrs. Darcy? I think you will enjoy the entree very much tonight." Smiling, Elizabeth squeezed her husband's arm and glided toward the dining hall, her deep burgundy gown floating along the floor behind her.

After a five-course meal, Lady Drake took her leave from the table with a few of the other women and moved towards the parlor. Already several other ladies had seated themselves around a cackling fire and one played several chords on a small, gilded piano-forte. Her nerves were nearly destroyed as it was, and the choppy, social melodies that repeated monotonously from the heart of the instruments threatened to undo her.

"Do you mind if I take the chair?" Lady Drake asked politely. The girls, recognizing her and her rank, quickly stood and let her sink down at the bench. She knew the moment her fingers would touch the ivory, she'd not be able to look her host directly in the eye again, but the alternative, a solid two hours of amateur tinkering and choppy sonatinas, was far less suitable.

As she expected, the smooth keys brought repressed memories to the surface but she ignored him with the ease of one with great practice. She played simply at first, but as more women crowded around the piano-forte in appreciation, she relaxed slightly, comfortable with her place in the spotlight, and played harder. Although she played Beethoven, not accepted as a social composer for his passionate sonatas, the melancholy composition she chose was welcomed by the women and as the sound grew more and more complex, the women fell silent and simply stood with their hands on the lustrous wood, feeling the vibrations with their soft, lubricated fingers.

The conclusion, her favorite because of its unabashed abruptness, fell upon the women like a thunderclap and a few jumped at the quick, stocatta quarter notes that ended the melody. Her hands slid from the keys and she looked up from their station at the candle that sat in the center of the piano-forte. After the women realized the sonata had ended they clapped warmly and complimented her on her playing. One, a young girl not more than fourteen, asked her if she would teach her to play, and Lady Drake felt a pleasant warmth at the innocent form of flattery. The warmth grew cold, however, as she looked up and found her gaze intercepted by two dark brown orbs across the parlor.

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Okay, so I tried. Feedback would be very much appreciated. Will post again soon. Thanks! 


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: I already had this written when I posted the first chapter so I decided just to put this one up, too. I have a third one in the making, but I may or may not post it soon, depending on how this whole story is received and how well I myself enjoy it. Enjoy, nonetheless, and happy holidays :)

Wow, totally just dated this piece with last comment...**

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Chapter 2**

Lady Drake left the piano-forte after her song had concluded and moved to a vacant corner of the room near the fire. She folded her hands across her lap and listened to the cheerful cackle of flames against the glowing logs, her eyes closing slightly behind her translucent veil. She yearned to be home, her true home. The one away from all of the complications of society. Things used to be so simple, she thought with a sigh. _But things have changed_.

"Lady Drake?" She looked up and her eyes connected with those of Charles' younger sister, her rosy face drawn into a sympathetic frown. "Are you all right? I haven't seen you dance once all evening!"

Lady Drake laughed softly. "I suppose I haven't been asked to do so, Miss De Bois. Besides, I'm not quite in the mood for dancing tonight." The young lady looked appalled.

"'No one's asked you'? Why, for the life of me, we must remedy that at once!" She turned, grasping Lady Drake's reluctant hand, and called for her brother. "Charles! Charles, how dare you not offer your hand to Lady Drake all evening!"

Her brother, upon his arrival in her formal sanctuary, bowed ceremoniously to Lady Drake and apologized. "You must accept my sincerest apologies, Lady Drake. How utterly careless of me—"

"Your attentions have scarcely been absent from Miss Brighton's figure, Charles, how could you have remembered when your mind was thus occupied?" Charles reddened furiously and Lady Drake laid a hand on his arm.

"Please, sir, I have not been in poor company," she assured him tiredly, though it did not show her voice. "The piano-forte has very oft been my dearest companion and it has not failed me tonight."

"Oh, _no_, Lady Drake, now your predicament is even _worse_!" Charles' sister moaned dramatically. "What horrible friends are we, Charles, to leave our guest so dejected!" Lady Drake, her temper beginning to flare beneath her stolid composure, cracked a smile and began to insist that she was indeed perfectly fine when a voice interrupted her.

"Lady, if I may intrude..." They turned to see a young woman of sixteen or seventeen standing behind them. Her hair was flaxen gold and framed her simple yet not plain features beautifully. In her hands were several sheets of dog-eared parchment, bound with string which she fiddled with absently. Lady Drake studied her face quizzically for a moment before raising her hands to her lips in surprise.

"Georgiana," she whispered, and the girl curtseyed in response before looking at her curiously.

"You know my name, Lady?" Georgiana asked politely, tilting her head to the right so that her curls slid to the nape of her neck. "Have we met before?"

"You don't remember..." Lady Drake murmured more to herself than anyone else. Her hands moved to her chin thoughtfully. "No, I don't expect you would, would you? You were so small, so_ young_..." Her eyes grew misty and she hid them behind the shadow of her veil. "I was once a playmate to your brother a long time ago and dried your tears when you got that scar." She pointed to a faint, barely noticeable line above the girl's left eyebrow with a smile.

"Georgiana, I've been looking for you! Your brother wishes you to play..." Mrs. Darcy, hurrying from behind them, placed her hands warmly on the girl's shoulders before looking up. "I see you've met Lady Drake, then, dear?"

Georgiana opened her mouth to speak and glanced back at Lady Drake before replying. "Yes, yes we've just acquainted ourselves with one another," she answered with a smile and Lady Drake marveled at the girl's sensitivity to the situation. The lady looked beyond the girl as Mr. Darcy made his way towards them.

"Darcy! Why, we've just now so charmingly introducing your sister to Lady Drake!" Charles announced grandly, blind to the whole situation. Darcy looked from Georgiana to Lady Drake, a familiar vein in his left temple twitching slightly, so much that only his sister and Lady Drake could notice.

"I was about to compliment Lady Drake on her playing," Georgiana said calmly, smiling to her brother and then to the woman in black. "I hadn't the courage yet to ask her to look over my own compositions with her expertise."

"I would be most happy to, Miss Darcy," Lady Drake replied, offering a gloved hand for the manuscripts. Georgiana handed them to her happily and squeezed the lady's hands tightly in appreciation.

"It would mean so very much to me, Lady, your skills at the piano-forte are inspiring," she murmured breathlessly. Her eyes diverted back to her brother and she regained her stalwart composure. "Thank you."

"Georgiana, your own talents have been requested by our aunt and uncle in the sitting room," Mr. Darcy said shortly. His wife took Georgiana's hands and smiled.

"Shall we go together, Georgiana? I haven't a chance to speak with them all evening," Mrs. Darcy said, and the pair disappeared together into the crowd, leaving Charles, his sister, and Mr. Darcy alone with Lady Drake in a most uncomfortable silence.

After a moment, Lady Drake curtseyed deeply. "I believe I shall take my leave of you, Mr. Darcy. I have had a most wonderful evening but am forced to depart. Business calls on me much too early tomorrow morning for me to stay any later in your home. Goodnight, Mr. Charles, Miss Charles."

They began to protest as was expected but Lady Drake was quickly losing control of everything she suppressed beneath her skin and excused herself from their presence and Darcy's piercing gaze. She took her coat from the servant in the entrance hall and raced for the door when a voice she both dreaded and prayed to hear behind her gave her pause.

"Lady Drake!" Darcy's sure footsteps echoed in the hall behind her, and she turned, biting her lip hard to stop the tears. "Lady Drake, I beg of you, a moment."

"Please, Mr. Darcy, I—"

"Only a moment, Lady, I must insist." Her hands dropped limply and she stepped outside Pemberley Hall and to the side where he led, but her eyes remained loosely fixed to the ground. For a while, the only sound she heard was his labored breathing until he began to speak.

"There is...so much I have to ask you, to which I must have answers," he murmured through his breath. "You have done me and my family wrong, madam, notorious wrong." A tear slipped past her clenched lids and moved down her cheek.

"I would ask you why you came back here, why you _dared_ show your face again, but then I would need ask why you _left_ to begin with, when my father needed you most, at his very last hour." His voice grew strong with powerful emotion that vibrated in his words. "What ill has my family done you, lady, that you feel so inclined to cause us such pain?" Lady Drake's cloak fell to the stone steps as a shuddering breath escaped from her.

"The duration of my stay in England, however intolerable, will be no further drawn out than to break all business ties my late husband established here before returning to Scotland. My sincere..." her voice broke but she cleared her throat violently, angry that it betrayed her now. "...my sincere hope is that my temporary presence here may be as quickly forgotten as would be most apt to relieve any pain I have caused. Good-..."

Her words fell away as her tears spilled openly down her cheeks and she looked up along the great pillars that supported Pemberley Hall. She wrenched the black veil from her face and glared into Darcy's eyes, her own red and swelled with tears. Her dark hair fell loose from where it was bound behind her head. "My prayers were with him even when I couldn't be." She bent and picked up her cloak from where it lay crumpled to the ground. "He was as much my father as he was yours."

Lady Drake spun away and flew down the marble steps, oblivious to the rain which now began to fall suitably to the earth, drenching her form as the carriage she arrived in pulled up to the gate. "Drive," she gasped to the horseman as she threw herself inside. The vehicle pulled away to the pounding hooves of the horses and she closed her eyes tightly. She did not trust them to hold the tears she knew were apt to spill.

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**I think I like this one better than the first...anyway, hope anyone who read this enjoyed it. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When she returned to the inn where she was staying while she remained in England, she was too weak to order anything to eat, although she had barely touched the food Darcy had served her. Lady Drake climbed the finely-carpeted stairs to her simple suite, bidding the innkeeper a good evening over her shoulder. As she had requested, a hot bath had been readied and her nightgown laid out on her bed. Had the steam rising from the inviting confines of the tub not been so appealing to her tired body, she would have collapsed into bed without removing a stitch of clothing. However, she resisted, and slowly undid the bodice and skirts of her black gown, letting it flutter to the floor with a soft sigh. She pulled the remainders of her undergarments from her frame and stepped carefully into the bath.

It was every bit as marvelous as she had hoped. Her lips parted in a relaxed O as she let her muscles slowly ease out of the bind she had tensed them into all evening. Lady Drake rubbed her eyes, still red and swollen from the copious amount of tears she had shed and dipped her head under the surface of the water. She hadn't expected him to understand, to forget let alone forgive her for the past, but her skin wasn't quite as tough as she had counted on it being. She missed her childhood companion, the summers they spent together, exploring and digging and racing through forests so dense only a fraction of the brilliant sunlight could pierce the brush.

—_Faster, William, faster!—_

_He was a good ways behind her now, and she was winning. The lake was in clear view, sparkling and reflecting the sun's summertime rays. She tore the ribbons from her hair and threw the heavy linen sun dress she wore over a light cotton shift to the ground. Shrieking in delight, she threw herself into the cool waters of the lake as the blur of a boy behind her disappeared from sight. _

_She sank as deep as she could until her toes reached the loose, slimy layer of earth along the lake. Above her the surface of the water glimmered gold and silver and blue underneath the clear sky. Where was William? She hadn't gone _that_ far ahead of him, had she? _

_A pang of concern crept into her ten-year-old mind and she quickly pumped to the surface as fast as her legs would allow. Gasping for air as her head popped out of the water, she treaded water and glanced around, her toes reaching the plateau of earth along the shallow part of the lake. _

—_William!—William?—_

_A body collided with hers and rammed her, squealing and laughing, against the grassy beach. As the water drained from her eyes and she could see clearly through her nervous laughter, William's head came into focus, his hair raining a shower of water over her._

—_You scared me to death! Where were you? Where did you go? I was _right_ in front of you!—_

_He grinned and flopped onto his back so that they both lay parallel to the sky. —You may have speed, and, well, everything else that I don't, but _I_ know the lake.— He pointed to a barely visible groundhog hole in the lawn that led beneath the surface of the lake._

_She smacked him, the nasty feeling she'd had beneath the water slowly ebbing away. —Don't ever scare me like that.—_

—_I won't.— He rolled on his side to pluck a fat brown worm from the ground and dangle it over her head. She giggled and offered her palm for it to squiggle upon. —I promise.—_

Lady Drake's body jolted awake in the now lukewarm water as loud knocking at the door broke into her thoughts. She glanced at the time to discover three hours had passed. As she expected, her skin was wrinkled and pruned from over-exposure to the water, and she stepped out of the bath, wrapping a heavy blanket around her shivering form.

"A moment, please!" she called impatiently to the insistent fists that hammered on the door. Checking that she was appropriately covered, she unlocked the door to find the innkeeper and a young maid waiting outside.

"Pardon, m'lady," the innkeeper stuttered, his eyes dropping to the pool of water gathering at her feet. "Marissa 'ere mentioned you wasn't respondin' when she asked ye if there was anythin' you needed and was a-feared you'd drowned."

"No, I believe I can manage myself in a three-foot bin of water, thank you," Lady Drake snapped. The innkeeper blinked rapidly, clutching the fearful young girl to his side. The now unpleasantly chilled lady sighed and put a hand to her forehead. "Never mind, it's no fault of yours. Please, I'd like not to be disturbed again for the rest of the evening.'

"Yes, m'lady,' the innkeeper mumbled, yanking the girl down the hall and bowing simultaneously. "T'won't happen again."

She watched them disappear absently for a moment before her eyes filled with tears and she slammed the door hard behind her.

"What a lovely evening!" Elizabeth sighed as she rubbed medicinal cream onto her dry skin. She smiled into her vanity mirror from the powder room and unpinned her long, mousy hair. "You were wonderfully civil, my love; I'm very pleased with you. I know what a trial these fetes are to you."

Darcy smiled from the bedroom and continued to unbutton his waistcoat. Her reflection in the vanity mirror laughed and disappeared. "I'm happy you enjoyed it, Elizabeth."

Her head popped into view suddenly as she reappeared in the bedroom, her white night-shift billowing around her slender figure. She rubbed her hands along her husband's tense shoulders gently.

"What's the matter, Mr. Darcy?" He turned to her, his fingers halting mid-button, and instead moved to her face. Planting a kiss on her smooth forehead, he shrugged out of his waistcoat and hung it on a chair.

"Nothing, darling, everything's fine," he answered, his back to where she sat on their four-post bed. "I simply saw someone tonight who I hadn't expected to see." _Ever again_, he added to himself as a bitter taste formed in his mouth. Darcy threw off his shirt and turned back to Elizabeth. He could tell by her eyes that she wished he'd open up to her, but he couldn't. Not now, anyway.

"All right, Darcy," she sighed as he lowered himself into bed. Her eyes watched his broad chest rise and fall softly next to her, and traced a familiar scar on his shoulder with her fingers. They paused, quivering, above his skin before tucking themselves firmly under a pillow. "I'm not pregnant."

He opened his eyes and turned to her. Through her sleep-heavy gaze he saw a great deal of sadness that pained him as much as it did Elizabeth. Darcy placed a hand on her cheek and smoothed away a stray tear with his thumb.

"We'll try again," he whispered, but she had already turned away from him. He watched her slightly trembling body long after she'd snuffed the candle by their bedside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who has given this story a quick read, and unfortunately, this chapter will probably be the quickest. I've written so much more in this journal I keep but I haven't had any time to sit down at a computer and type it all up because of how hectic things are with my schedule right now. I know that's pretty lame, for lack of a better explanation, but I should have something more up soon.

And no, Mr. Darcy is not having an affair. Rest assured, I will not be the scarlet author who breaks up the most divinely suited couple in literature. I'm just playing with his past. :-)

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**Chapter 4**

Daylight had returned, and so had Lady Drake's carefully restored composure. She woke with the sunrise and dressed herself in one of the least dour black gowns in her possession, only covering half her face with her veil.

Today, she traveled to London to close her late husband's bank accounts, which were registered to the stock company his grandfather founded generations ago. After her late husband's death, she sold the company to none other than her once leading competition. All that was left was her signature on a simply drawn contract that released her from any obligation to the company that may have been required of her.

She had asked only what the company was worth at the time of her husband's orchestration of it, and now looked forward to her escape from England without suffering any further remnants of her past, be it there in London or Pemberley Hall. However, as she descended the stairs from her quarters, her hopes fell miserably as the innkeeper handed her a letter with an all too familiar family crest sealing the folds.

"_Lady Drake—_

_I am aware of your arrival in London sometime this evening and must compel your presence at my home for a few hours of your time. My husband will not speak his mind, but I would know it for myself, as his wife. I will be waiting at 143 Leicester Square at 6:00. Please find me there._

_Sincerely,_

_Mrs. E. Darcy_

_Pemberley Hall of Reading_

Lady Drake folded the letter and placed it in her pocket securely. She had expected a letter of this sort, however abrupt, but her heart still beat rapidly against her chest in anxiousness. Clenching her slightly trembling fingers, she called for a chaise and leaned against the wall. She had a long road ahead of her and an even longer story to explain.

Elizabeth fidgeted in her chair and took a sip of her tea. Lady Drake would arrive at the Darcy townhouse any moment; she _had_ to control her nerves. Mrs. Darcy had considered writing down her questions, but instead committed them all to memory. As guilty as she felt for lying to her husband, this far outweighed the consequences. The look on her husband's face when Lady Drake arrived at Pemberley was more horrified, more dejected, more hateful than any glance she'd seen directed towards Wickham. She would not lose her husband to a painful past he refused to bring to light.

A servant entered the parlor, and bowed. "A lady Charlotte Dr—"

"Yes, yes, let her in," Elizabeth breathed hastily, and the servant bowed away. Before she had time to take another fortifying sip of her tea, a tall, darkly clad woman whose stately air was far from diminished by her somber mourning apparel glided into view. Elizabeth rose gracefully.

"Lady Drake." She said, with a small curtsey.

"Mrs. Darcy," the guest responded, her voice soft but clear like a whispered dirge. "I understand you have something to say to me."

Elizabeth attempted at a smile and offered the lady a chair, which she took with more gratitude than she let on. Her hostess sighed after a servant prepared them both fresh cups of breakfast tea. "Lady Drake, I cannot put into eloquence the reasons for my insistence upon your coming here because I myself have been shut out of my husband's confidence." Her voice shook, but she calmed it immediately. "I will not lose my husband to his pride." _Or fear_, the voice in the back of her mind added.

Lady Drake bowed her head and set down the porcelain cup onto its saucer. "You deserve more than I can possibly provide you, Mrs. Darcy. I do not deny it, mine is a very complicated history into which your husband has been woven inextricably. I only wish that the sins of my past would be my burden alone to carry, and leave you unharmed." The butterflies in her stomach swarmed to her chest and throat as she folded her gloved hands resolutely. "Where shall I start?"

Elizabeth met the woman's eyes with an even gaze and smiled mirthlessly. "At the beginning, of course."


	5. Chapter 5

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Okay, I can almost guarantee there will be some accuracy mistakes in here. I totally made up Darcy's father's name and some stuff about his education, so don't be hatin'. Lol. Kind of a transition/explanation bit so sorry for the lack of action. Thanks for reading! I can't think of any other explanations except for the whole I'm-too-lowly-to-kiss-Jane-Austen's-shoe-so-why-do-I-even-need-to-deny-the-impossible-act-of-plagiarism-of-such-an-incredible-author?-bit. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 5**

"I knew your husband as a very small child," she began, taking a breath, "before his father's death. My mother had fled France while she was pregnant with me during the Revolution. Our wealth in Paris was great, and, although not active members of the aristocracy, we were in grave danger of _Mme. Guillotine_. My father, an Englishman by the name of Stone, stayed behind to conlcude our businesses and to cut off all ties to our former home. By the time my mother reached London in the summer of 1789 where my father had arranged for his business associates to take her in until he arrived, she received notice of his death by a revolutionary mob who ransacked the homes of 65 noblemen and killed them in cold blood. My father was the last to die.

"When my mother realized what had happened, she panicked. She knew very lettle English and none of my father's acquaintances in England, except for one, a man she'd never even met before--John Darcy of Pemberley Hall, Dobshire. My mother found his address in the country and sent a message to him in French of our predicament. Out of his own kindness and pocket, he invited her to Pemberley until I was born or until my mother could find a modest housing agency in which we could reside and begin our new lives in England.

"However, three months later, my mother contracted a fatal disease during my birth. She never truly recovered again. Nevertheless, Mr. Darcy and his wife treated my mother and I as if we were part of his family until her death in '97 when I was just eight years old. That is precisely when I met your husband, Mrs. Darcy. He had been sent away as a young boy to Eton College and returned the year my mother died. He was seventeen years old.

"By this time Darcy's father had agreed to take me as his ward until I was able to enter society on my own. Mr. Darcy's son was almost an identical copy of him; kind, generous, extroverted, but always polite to a degree of exaggeration. He treated me as a younger sister and a friend. Pemberley was the only home I'd ever known and Mr. Darcy and his son, my only family."

1797

_'Charlotte, my dear, please relax. My son is a very polite young man. Too polite, almost, I'd say. You have no need to fret over his approval, for he'll let no sign of it, 'like' you or no. It's a fruitless effort.'_

_I wasn't sure if this was meant to comfort or to tease, but the result was my stomach plummeting even lower than I had thought possible. I looked up at Mr. Darcy's kind face and tried to smile._

_'Yes, sir,' I whispered. One of the servants entered at our left and a fit of butterflies ravaged my insides. _

_'Master Fitzwilliam has returned, sir,' he announced and bowed away as the young Darcy passed through the doorway. He saluted his father as propriety required and then moved forward to embrace him._

_'Welcome home, my boy,' Mr. Darcy sighed happily, enveloping the youth in his arms for a moment before pulling away. 'I'd like you to meet the young lady I wrote to you about, William. This is Miss Charlotte Stone.'_

_I had glued my eyes to the young man the second he entered the room, gaping at his tall stature and stately attitude. He now turned to me and bowed deeply._

_'Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss, Miss Stone,' he said his voice deep and clear. _

_'Th-thank you,' I stammered before decidedly squelching the mad hoard of nerves inside of me. 'Please, if you like, call me Charlotte.'_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled and nodded. 'A pleasure to meet you, Charlotte.' His father smiled warmly at us before clapping his hands together and calling for tea to be served. _

_Later that week, young Darcy took me for a tour of the private stables that I'd never seen or explored before, and asked if I knew how to ride. I replied that I did, adding that my intstruction came from his father directly, and we saddled two horses, for I was a tall child for my tender age. Before long we were galloping through the expanse of land belonging to the Darcy estate, and as I watched in wonder at the young man's impeccable seat, I realized I would get along very well with him._

_We dismounted on the summit of a tall hill and surveyed the marvelous view. He sighed and sat on a wide cluster of stone that jutted up from the ground, inviting me to do the same. _

_'I expect it's very good to be home,' I squeaked, still quite intimidated by his Napoleonic presence._

_'Oh, very much so,' he replied, removing one of his riding gloves and flexing his fingers. 'When I left for Eton four years ago, I yearned for adventure and the ways of the world. I suppose home is one of those places you realize you miss the most when you're away from it.'_

_'I don't think I'll ever return home,' I said faintly of the Parisian estate belonging to my family name in Paris. Young Darcy turned to me and hesitated._

_'I hope you come to think of Pemberley as your own home one day, Miss Charlotte,' he said gently. 'It is as much your home as it is mine.' He turned back to the picturesque view. 'My father is very fond of you.'_

_'He's a great man,' I answered, my cheeks pleasantly warm with praise. _

_'He is,' Darcy echoed distantly._

"My time at Pemberley after young Darcy's arrival grew more and more utopic than I had every known. Mr. Darcy's wife taught me to read and write and play the piano-forte, and Mr. Darcy himself supplied my hungry brain with the work of the philosophies and great politicians like Locke and Voltaire. However, as months turned to years, it was to Fitzwilliam Darcy whom I grew the closest and who took me under his wing as I grew older."

Lady Drake drew her gaze from the adjacent window to glance at Mrs. Darcy's expressionate face. To her dismay, it was shining with tears. "Mrs. Darcy, please, it was not my intention to upset you--"

"All this time," Elizabeth said quietly, her intelligent eyes sparkling with moisture. "All this time, and I never knew. He never once mentioned..." She looked up at the woman and realized for the first time how truly young she was, not four years older than she. The lady's gaze was focused on her tightly clasped gloved fingers. Mrs. Darcy took the woman's hand with more character than the noblest of her sex and managed a benevolent smile. "Perhaps we shall adjourn from our conference for this evening, Lady Drake. I fear this topic is much deeper than I had anticipated and shall not be resolved in one sitting."

Lady Drake searched the incredible woman's face and curtseyed. "I may be found at the Rose and Crown, Mrs. Darcy, when you are at your leisure tomorrow."

"Shall I not prepare a room for you here?" But as soon as Lizzie had spoken the words and seen the shiver pass over the Lady's frame, she realized the impossibility of her offer. "Perhaps not. An escort to your lodging, then."

"Thank you, Mrs. Darcy. I shall be fine on my own. Thank you for your hospitality." And she disappeared without another word. Elizabeth stared at the seat she had occupied seconds before and sank back to her own sofa feeling very much alone for the first and only time in her life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Okay, I know this was a little dark and depressing, but this _is_a story about Darcy's past and so not all of it can be as sunny as I'd like. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderfully helpful criticisms! Please enjoy.**

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Chapter 6

Darcy stood on the balcony outside his and Elizabeth's bedroom and sighed, watching his breath escape in a translucent, white cloud. The end of the summer was swiftly approaching; he could feel it in his bones, stiff and desperate for exercise. The moon hung listlessly overhead, enveloped by the haze of a thin, expanse of cloud. They would have rain soon, or worst, a frost. Elizabeth's prized garden would be devastated. Elizabeth…

He looked down at his hands as he remembered the broken expression in her eyes the night before. She wanted a child more than anything and seeing her sister, Jane, and Charles with their own newborn only made her longing swell even more. Darcy, however, was patient. He welcomed the idea of a child, but was more concerned with his wife's happiness and health than his own. The thought of childbirth scared him more than he ever admitted. Only one woman knew exactly how deep-rooted this fear was, and he had no desire to see her ever again.

The nerve of that woman! Coming back to his home like that, making small talk with his wife, welcomed by _his_ friends, thread-by-thread unraveling the very fabric of the life he'd managed to make for himself simply by renewing her presence there, however brief she insisted upon it being.

Turning angrily from the ledge, Darcy returned to his room and called for a servant. One appeared almost instantaneously.

"Sir?"

"Prepare my horse," Darcy spat. "I shall require no protection tonight."

"Very good, sir," the servant replied, and bowed. Darcy hastily wrote a note for Elizabeth in case she returned before daylight, although he doubted she would risk the dangers of traveling at night on the highways. As Darcy swept down the steep secret staircase that opened up behind a homely portrait in the guest bedroom wall, he slid his arms into a long overcoat and blinked back tears that had sprung up from the blast of cold air that ventilated the passage.

His horse was saddled and ready when he reached the stables and he leapt onto its back with ease. The servants knew not to disturb him, for he had made many of these same nocturnal rides before, but still, they wondered, as they watched from the servants' quarters, what had triggered the rekindling of the custom so long out of use?

The horse was fast and soon he had disappeared from view of Pemberley Hall and was alone in the great expanse of dark acreage that he owned. Overhead, only the moon shown faintly for the stars was blotted out by thick black masses of cloud. The cold front swept in with catlike stealth and now put an unseasonable chill into Darcy's bones. Even his horse stomped nervously under him, although it had been trained and bred for diehard steadfastness.

"Whoa," Darcy breathed before nudging the stallion forward. They galloped farther and farther out into the darkness, stumbling several times from the rocks which protruded from a mercilessly black ground. When the stumbling grew too frequent, Darcy slowed and dismounted. "All right, boy. It's all right, dad," he murmured, and tied the reins to a tall tree.

Dizzy with adrenaline, he tripped along the nigh invisible path until he reached a level plane of ghostly long grass that dropped away suddenly into a sea of night. He recognized the cliff he walked along from boyhood adventures and remembered how steep a drop the edge would take.

His chest heaving, Darcy squinted up into the sky and then collapsed to the ground, watching the frail moon bear down on him from the heavens. The grass was cool and dry yet, though the presence of rain was so imminent he could taste it on the breeze.

"Give me peace, God," he murmured, searching the distant face of the moon for a reply. "Let her rest. I see she's hurting. It will destroy her if you—"

A crack of thunder from far away cut him off.

"What am I to do?" he cried, louder now and pounded the earth with one fist. "Why did you bring her back here? She is no responsibility of mine! It will destroy Elizabeth if she knew! You're breaking apart my family!"

The low growl in the distance swelled to a steady roar until suddenly a streak of lightning shot across the barren sky. Darcy struggled to his feet and took slow, steady breaths to calm himself.

"I am happy now," he sighed, shoulders aching suddenly. "Must I return to hatred and anger so soon?" He kicked a loose stone in the earth and listened to his topple off the edge of the cliff as rain began to drizzle against him. "You took my mother, my father, and you reached out for my sister, but let lightning strike me down before you take my wife."

He said this in a deep, rumbling voice, the power of which by no means hampered by the growing storm. Darcy ran a hand through his slick, wet hair and looked up into the tempestuous sky. His mind was beginning to spin and the desperation in him began to overtake his senses.

"Let lightning strike me down—" he bellowed for a last time, but his footing slipped from the mud that bled freely from the earth and his breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground. Rivers of molten earth ran around where he fell as rain splashed into his face.

Darcy realized suddenly that the ground would not be sound enough for riding if the rain persisted, and so he struggled to his feet. The thunder came louder and faster and it seemed as if the ocean poured freely from the sky. He took a step forward, but slipped and lost his balance in the unstable ground. He took a cautious step backwards to steady himself only to find that the earth fell away to a steep, dark hillside and he crumpled to the side of the cliff.

Desperately, he groped for an exposed root as he dangled from the edge, but the earth was too slick. He fell away from the ledge as a strangled cry tore from him, and he plummeted down, down, deep into the black sea beneath him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Sorry for taking so long to post something new for this story. I hope everyone enjoys it and as always I welcome any reviews, criticisms, and critiques you may have to offer. Thanks again for reading. LV

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**Chapter 7**

The next morning, Lady Drake woke to the busy sounds of traffic on the London sidestreets and threw the sheets from her body. The Rose Inn was not London's finest, but the owners knew her from before her inheritance and treated her warmly, a novelty rare to her as of late.

She walked to the window and stared out at the muddy, water-logged streets where murky rivlets of rain ran along the sidewalks. She would have to return to Mrs. Darcy's home before noon, at least, she knew. There was so much to be said yet and to delay Elizabeth's intelligence of her husband's past would be cruel. So, with a heavy sigh, Lady Drake dressed in a dark grey gown and called for a quick breakfast and local cab.

"Madam, your cab has arrived," a boy announced a quarter of an hour later as she finished her kips on toast and swallowed a cup of lukewarm tea. Lady Drake nodded.

"Thank you, Thomas," she smiled faintly, and tossed him a coin. Rising from her small dining table, she took up her cloak in one pale hand, a silver ring glinting from her fourth finger. "And please thank your father for his hospitality. He is very kind."

"Yes, mum," the boy mumbled, bowing awkwardly as the woman swept by him, her skirts brushing past his skin like a cool breeze.

As she rode in the cab, her eyes lazily drifted from each unfamiliar face, all shaded by the bleak overcast London sky. A dark rain fell as mist from the sky onto dank streets when she halted the cab and paid the driver. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she began to walk the two blocks from Mrs. Darcy's townhouse. She needed fresh air now, for the confines of Elizabeth's quaint parlor would suffocate her.

"My lady, your obedient servant offers you this letter," Lady Drake shuddered and controlled the amount of suprise she showed as she turned. The shadow of a figure offered her a small yellowed piece of folded parchment which she took. Before when she looked up to identify the emissary, he had disappeared into the crowd. A sense of dread settled into her bones as she unfolded the letter. It read:

"The news of your husband's devastating accident on the high seas reached me at last during my stay in Singapore. While the thought of your unhappiness and bereavement struck my heart like a rusted arrow, I am in part reminded of an oath you made, my sweet child, years ago in my summer home; I daresay you recall it well. I shall indeed collect what is rightfully mine soon enough.

My Deepest Condolences during this Mournful Hour."

It was unsigned, but she recognized the script and the tone of the words immediately. Lady Drake had hoped, _prayed_, for the twelve months after her husband's death that the ghost would have forgotten, that it would have cast off the memory as a childish promise made by a desperate foolish girl, but it hadn't. And now, the ghost of her past had come back to haunt her.

"I shall escape this life," she murmured bitterly to herself, and cast the letter to the muddy ground.

"Mrs. Darcy, Lady Charlotte Drake of---"

"Yes, Geoffry, please send her in immediately." The servant bowed and left Elizabeth to her frenzied thoughts which raced uncontrollably through her mind.

Fear, lothing, and anticipation left her writhing with confusion and dread, and yet a sense of relief calmed her nerves in the slightest. Her suspicions had been confirmed after the woman's last visit, revealing the true depths of the secrecy her husband maintained over his real life and history. For months after her marriage to Darcy, she had feared the days to be too good, to perfect to be real. The shadow that now hung over them all assured her of their reality, of her husband's incomplete godliness. And surprisingly, it was as a strange comfort to her.

Elizabeth looked up when Lady Drake entered the room, and smiled faintly from the far corner of the room. The woman's hair had loosed itself from its tight braid and gave her demeanor a rare sense of vulnerability and youth. Mrs. Darcy rose.

"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy."

"Good morning, Lady Drake," Elizabeth replied. She offered a china cup in the woman's direction. "Tea?"

"Please," the Lady breathed, folding into a chair stiffly and pouring cream into her cup with no real intention of drinking its contents. "I am afraid under these circumstances, an attempt at small talk would be somewhat extraneous, Mrs. Darcy: forgive my forwardness."

"I agree, Lady Drake. Please continue at your leisure," Elizabeth said coolly, setting her cup on its saurcer in a dignified manner, and the woman followed suit shortly. Her eyes turned towards the gray light pooling in from the half-open window near her and began to speak.

_"When Mrs. Darcy passed, (_she said slowly_) things changed rapidly. The entire household lost the luster and cheer that I had grown to love as a child. William seemed to become a different person after her death---more distant than I had ever remembered him to be. His father, growing weaker and grayer with every day that passed, slowly began to show signs of his imminent death, signs I noticed painfully, for he had grown as a father to me as well._

_I walked into his study one afternoon to invite him for a game of chess, one of our favorite pasttimes, but instead I found him in deep conversation with his lawyer, whom I recognized from his last visit upon my adoption into his family. Quickly, I discovered he was composing his will. I left abruptly, embarrassed and unwilling to accept what I had seen, and avoided him and his son for the rest of the day. That night, however, a servant came to my quarters and informed me that I was wanted in his personal library, and I had no choice but to oblige him._

_I held onto the top of the rail as tightly as I could as I descended into the ovluar room. Mr. Darcy was seated by the dying fire and looked up when I entered the room. He opened his arms to me weakly, the shadows under his eyes enhanced by the fading light. 'Come, my dear.'_

_I came. 'Charlotte,' he said to me seriously, taking my hands in his own. I noticed they shook around my own. 'I'm old, Charlotte. Soon, I will be unable to look after you or my soon.'_

_'Mr. Darcy, please---'_

_'Charlotte, listen to me, I beg you.' I was quiet and looked helplessly up into his hazy blue eyes, hidden behind half-moon spectacles. 'You a growing into a fine young lady, just like your mother was at your age, and I will not leave this world without the knowledge that you are to be well taken care of.'_

_He took my hands in his rough, chaffed ones as he noticed my tears and smiled. 'No, my dear! This is not a time for sadness.'_

_Mr. Darcy paused gently. 'Charlotte, I've found you a husband.' I drew my hands away in surprise and dread._

_'Lotte, please listen. He is a fine man, and he will take care of you as I have. I've made him an offer and he's agreed to wait until you've reached your sixteenth year.'_

_I felt horribly selfish and ungrateful for feeling as I did, but I could not hear his words for the rush of blood in my ears. I should have realized long ago that the Darcys would not possibly be able to keep me until I had grown old and withered away like a leaf in winter, but oh, how I had hoped to remain in Pemberley with William and Mr. Darcy for many more long ears. Nevertheless, I nodded firmly. 'If you think it best, sir.'_

_Mr. Darcy smiled and drew me close to him._

_'You have given this family much joy,' he whispered in my ear. 'You must always think of Pemberley as your true home.'"_

Lady Drake pased, her thoughts drifting as she lapsed into silence. Mrs. Darcy touched her arm lightly.

"Lady Drake, all you all right?" Elizabeth whispered compassionately. The dark lady looked up in surprise and then glanced at Elizabeth's fingers, resting on her black sleeve. Elizabeth sighed and retracted her hand.

"Please understand, Lady," Mrs. Darcy said seriously. "I do not hold you in contempt because you and my husband have a history that he chose not to bring into my confidence. I simply wish he had trusted me enough to tell me himself."

Lady Drake watched Elizabeth for a moment, hesitated, then lifted the veil and bonnet from her face. A mass of dark brown curls slipped to the nape of her neck and framed her pale face like a dark halo.

"He loves you, Mrs. Darcy," Lady Drake said slowly. "Only once have I ever seen him as happy and contented as he is with you, and that was many, many years ago."

The two women held each other's gaze briefly before each fell away into silence and took a bit more of their tea.

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Thanks for reading. Will try to update soon. LV :)**

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